as a bachelor and a soldier. Now he’d pledged to God that he would devote himself solely to this woman, a stranger not even of his own country.
And judging by her regal bearing, this woman was in a class far above his. Poitiers’s insult of farm stock was foolish. She was obviously higher in status. Aye, his family had influence with William, but Adrien was happy being only in the king’s service. Would his wife despise him more for his Norman heritage or for his low upbringing?
Ediva blinked up at him, her arrogance gone and now revealing smoldering, stubborn fear that was, oddly enough, tempered with a slow swallow.
’Twas just a kiss ordered by the king through Poitiers. Yet her pale eyes were awash with tears and her lips clenched so tightly together they must have hurt.
He pulled back his shoulders. He wasn’t in the habit of forcing himself on women.
“Seal this union, Adrien,” Poitiers growled. “It has the king’s license.”
Behind him he heard the chink of half-drawn swords hitting mail. Ediva tilted up her chin and that fine, steel backbone stiffened as if prepared for an accursed death.
He lowered his head and deftly leaned to one side. He would kiss this woman and quite possibly save both their lives. A brief kiss, barely a brushing of lips, a touch light enough to feel the breath of her gasp as she realized what he had also realized.
They were now husband and wife.
* * *
Ediva could no longer control the emotions roiling within her. There was hatred for her situation, yet no revulsion, certainly not like during her marriage to Ganute. When Adrien gave her the barest kiss, she’d shuddered with an expectancy of more.
But no more came and her nerves danced like the traveling acrobats who’d entertained last year.
“’Tis over, madam,” Adrien’s low voice whispered close to her parted lips. “You may open your eyes now.”
Heat scorched her cheeks, and her eyes flew open. “I was expecting more, ’tis all. My first wedding was a more extravagant affair.”
“Alas, we have no fanfare.”
“Not unless you consider the chink of weaponry in case I fussed. Much different than the sound of trumpets.”
Adrien lifted his eyebrows. “Trumpets?”
“A chorus of them from the battlement of Dunmow Keep. My mother wanted my wedding heard a league away. My ears ached for a week, but she was as deaf as a stone and cared little for me. Much like those here in London.”
She stepped back. She hadn’t thought of her mother in years. Like Ganute’s mother, her own mother hadn’t seen the end of that year due to an outbreak of fever. They had been peas of the same pod, and neither cared enough for Ediva to notice that Ganute abused his position of husband. They wanted only that the monies of the two families stay within the county.
Ediva tried to relax. ’Twould do no good to stew upon her selfish mother’s actions or on the memory of her kinder father, who had been the first to succumb to the fever weeks before the wedding. What a bitter year that had been.
Adrien lifted her hand to his lips, but paused before kissing it, to whisper, “’Tis unwise to complain here. The king has ears even in the chapel.” His gaze flickered to Poitiers as he brought her hand to his lips.
The warmth seeped into her cold skin. And his rough fingers brushed her palm, evoking a shiver deep within. She wanted to snatch away her hand, but Adrien kept his grip firm as he led her from the altar. He stalled by the door, turning to speak to the old chaplain. “My thanks to you, Poitiers, and you, dear brother, for being available for such a grand event. You both may report to the king his will has been done. May I depart for this woman’s keep to inspect my new acquisition?”
Ediva heard the steward—now her brother-in-law—laugh. Peeking over her own shoulder, she watched the chaplain scowl at her new husband’s impudence.
“Go, but be mindful of the king’s orders.” Poitiers then added, “May God bless your marriage.”
Ediva glanced at Adrien. His mockery turned to a scowl. Once out of earshot, he turned to her. “Have you a maid to prepare you for the journey home?”
“A maid! You jest, sir. I have no one with me. I have naught but the clothes I wear. When the guards arrived at the keep, they insisted that I travel immediately. They wanted only fresh horses, so I had just enough time to be given my cloak and throw my steward some duties over my shoulder before being dragged down here.” She glared at Adrien. “I spent this past night with other women who were as bewildered as I was, none of whom were any better supplied.”
Adrien frowned. “How did the king know of you?”
She shrugged. “My husband wanted to be well-known in King Edward’s court, and then in King Harold’s short time in court early last year. Mayhap he left a spy who saw fit to inform the new king of my status as widow.”
Aye, probably so, Ediva thought with disgust. And if that was the case, then she knew who it must have been. Olin, Ganute’s second cousin, had been in the thick of royal intrigue, sending many a missive on the machinations of the court back to the keep. Ediva had intercepted several. ’Twas simple enough to pry off Olin’s hasty seal and reset it again. But after she’d read a few, Ediva saw the messages as foolish gossip. Olin was wasting good parchment to earn a stipend from Ganute—and likely, he’d earned another stipend from the king for reporting back on Ganute’s replies.
Now there was a new king, but Olin was apt to swear allegiance to the new seat of power as quickly as a hawk turned toward its prey. Mayhap he’d thought that by courting the king’s pleasure with jots of information he would be given her keep and lands. But, she reminded herself, all that she owned now belonged to the tall, silent Norman beside her.
* * *
“How is it that you know French and Latin, milady?” Adrien asked, wanting to break the awkward silence. “What other tongues do you speak?”
“Just those. My mother wanted to secure my sisters and me good marriages, so she brought in a tutor who’d lived in Normandy.” She tossed him a hard look. “But do not believe that because I’ve learned your language, I support this invasion. Especially now that you have stolen what is rightfully mine.”
As much as he desired to keep their relationship cordial, he could not let her remark go unanswered. “The king decides what belongs to you, woman. He fought for that right.”
“The only good thing that happened at Hastings was not William’s victory!” she spat out.
Her words made no sense to him. Adrien looked curiously at her, but when she refused to expand on her cryptic explanation, he continued his walk outside.
She followed him until they reached the king’s stables. Adrien barked out a stream of orders to several young men. One immediately departed on a small horse, while another disappeared into the stable.
“Nay,” she whispered, as she drew her cloak tightly around her and shook her head as if she had trouble believing where they’d ended up.
Adrien turned. His long
